


The Fight isn't Over Yet

by keeptogethernow



Series: Support Systems [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Short & Sweet, Sibling Rivalry, he's trying, sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 22:43:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9208121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keeptogethernow/pseuds/keeptogethernow
Summary: Bruce wanted to believe that Tim and Damian had made peace while he was gone. Granted, they fought, but all siblings do, or so he told himself. But now he's beginning to see just how wrong he was.





	1. A Place in the Family

**Author's Note:**

> I played loose and free with the timeline. Ya'll are smart enough to figure it out!

It takes Bruce far longer than it ought to to figure out that there’s still serious anger between his youngest two. Whether it’s because he’s oblivious (Jason’s opinion) or just really wants to believe otherwise (Dick’s suggestion), he can’t say. But somehow, he managed to miss all indicators that Tim and Damian aren’t actually done pretty much hating each other. Yes, there were still fights, typically ending with broken furniture, someone bleeding, and Bruce being annoyed over the ridiculousness of it.

This time, it’s the crash of something breaking and a shouted “ _What the hell is wrong with you?”_ from the direction of the upstairs sitting room.

He races up and into the room, half expecting to find some sort of assassination attempt— _or Jason, which immediately makes him feel horrible_. But what he finds instead is two angry boys and one very thoroughly shattered glass coffee table. It’s Tim and Damian, because it’s _always_ them these days.

So now he stands in the doorway, just sort of staring at the mess while trying to come up with something besides “ _Why?”_ and working hard to keep from losing his temper over the mess they’ve caused. Honestly, he’s still not sure what happened. All he can tell for sure is that a: both of them were still going at it when he’d first go there, and b: at least one of them is bleeding— _he’s just not sure which one._

All of this is why they’re now sitting on the floor, as far apart as possible. _Well, that and the shouted order for them to do so._ Bruce has made a conscious effort to block the door this time, because he’s pretty sure that one of them (Tim, probably) will try to run for it. As far as he can tell thus far, neither of them is seriously injured.

“What…Happened?” he finally grinds out. _He still expects it to be over something stupid, like “he’s sitting in_ my _spot”_.

They both start talking (well, Damian’s actually yelling), and Bruce really just wants to give up and go back to bed. This is definitely _not_ an option, given that Alfred’s made it clear he’s not parenting for anyone, Dick’s not currently there to play the responsible adult, and _they’re_ his _children, dammit!_

“Enough!” he has to shout to be heard over them. “One at a time, for God’s sake. Damian?”

He knows that he should probably start with Tim if he wants a fairly accurate explanation. But out of the two, Tim’s a lot less likely to start fighting again if he doesn’t get to speak first— _at least he used to be_. Bruce isn’t actually sure of much when it comes to Tim now.

“Drake overreacted,” Damian says, glaring at the other boy. “And I had to defend myself.”

“By…breaking the coffee table?”

“No. The table broke when _he_ threw _me_ into it.”

Bruce can already feel the headache coming on. “Tim, you… _threw him into a table?”_

“Yes,” Tim doesn’t even bother to sound sorry. “I did.”

“ _Why?”_ Bruce groans, because there’s really no other reaction he can give. Already he’s trying to think of some new form of punishment that won’t further alienate either boy. He’s making good progress with Damian (finally) and the wrong reaction will damage that. With Tim…well, he’s never sure what to do with that one, even more so now. “Why would you throw _your ten year old brother_ into a table?”

“Because he tried to kill me!”  
“I _did not!”_ Damian shouts back. “I was merely demonstrating how foolish it was to let your guard down like that!”

“By trying to stab me?” Tim looks incredulous. “Of course I let my guard down. This is my _home!”_

Bruce can already see where this is going—both of them are shouting now. He can’t really catch it all, just snippets:

“…don’t _live_ here!”

“Why are you such a—“

“This is why I’m the better—“

Finally, Bruce tries to step in, which turns out to be a mistake, because suddenly both boys are yelling at him instead.

“Both of you need to settle dow—“

“Yes, Drake, settle down.” Damian manages to sound as sanctimonious as a child his age can.

“Damian, stop antagonizing your brother,” Bruce snaps.

Tim’s eyes practically skewer him. “He is _not_ my brother!”

“As though I could be related to someone as useless as _him!”_ Damian says at almost the same time.

And Bruce is confused, because he’s not sure where all this anger is coming from— _Dick did always say he was slow on the uptake when it came to emotions._ While he’s trying to process this and find a way to deescalate it, the boys do not stop fighting.

Suddenly, Tim’s jumping up to his feet, muttering “I’m leaving.”

Before anyone can respond, he _shoves_ past Bruce and takes off down the hall. A second later, the slam of the front door reverberates through the Manor. Bruce sighs, and gives Damian a disappointed look.

“Was that necessary?”

The boy shrugs. “Good riddance.”

Bruce can’t even begin to come up with a good response to that. Deep down, he knows that Damian’s cold attitude is just a cover and that the boy is probably sorry. But he also knows that it’s become a reoccurring theme, one that’s wearing on him and causing further conflict.

“We’ll discuss this later.” Bruce says firmly, keeping his rage in check. “You will stay in your room until dinner.”

“But—“

“ _Now!”_

He’s not proud of how Damian flinches minutely at the tone, nor of how his youngest son skirts around him as though _he’s_ a threat. But there’s nothing else that Bruce could think of, and he couldn’t just let Damian off that easily. And now he just needs to deal with Tim before the situation gets any further out of hand.

It takes a good ten minutes to figure out that Tim’s still on the grounds—apparently, his goal to “leave” was waylaid by Alfred confiscating the teen’s car keys. Bruce isn’t certain why his fifteen year old has a car—no, wait, that’s not accurate—he’s not sure why the boy _still_ has a car, it’d been a bad idea when he’d _given_ the kid the car, and he would have thought that _somebody_ would have seen that and stepped in by now. He adds this to his list of things that he needs to take care of.

Hoping that Tim will still be his easy child— _the one who doesn’t cause trouble, who only argues when there’s a_ real _reason, who actually listens to what is said—_ Bruce searches for a good twenty minutes before he finds said child, tucked away in a room that Bruce honestly didn’t even know existed, some musty old study filled with stuffed animals that some Wayne ancestor had collected.

Bruce grimaces in distaste at the gruesome display, weaving between them to the window seat where his son has ensconced himself, chin resting on his knees, staring out at the lengthening shadows. He’s not too oblivious to miss the way the boy tenses, like he’s squaring off for a fight.

“Alfred wouldn’t let me leave.” Tim says, beating him to it. “So I’m waiting.”

“For what?” Bruce gingerly moves to sit, stopping when Tim tenses even more. “I didn’t know taxis came out this far.”

“For you and _Damian_ to go on patrol.”

“Oh.”

Tim nods slowly, staring down at his knees. “Yeah. ‘Oh’. Don’t tell him I’m here, okay? I’m not in the mood to get stabbed again today.”

The desperation is obvious in the boy’s plea. Bruce winces internally, wanting to reach out and pull his child into a hug, but he’s afraid that Tim will pull away. So, instead, he nods and softly says “Okay”, taking no pleasure in the way the teenager visibly relaxes at the response.

“Do you want to find somewhere warmer to wait?” Bruce asks, noting how chilly the room is—looking closely, he can see that Tim is shivering slightly. “Maybe somewhere with a fireplace or heat?” _Someplace that isn’t full of dead animals and isolation._

“No. ‘S too…” The kid trails off and shrugs. “I’m good. Got a sweatshirt.”

Bruce frowns. “Tim, _I’m_ cold in here. There’s no way that sweatshirt is warm enough.” He sighs, scrambling for an argument that his stubborn child will accept. “Damian will be spending the evening in his room until dinner.”

“Don’t wanna…” Tim gestures vaguely. “I’m just gonna stay out of the way.”

“Well, we could find you somewhere ‘out of the way’ that wasn’t freezing.”

“ _Why?”_ The boy’s voice is surprisingly bitter now. “I’m _fine.”_

“Because you’ll get sick and it’ll be miserable.” Bruce can tell as soon as he stops talking that this was not the right thing to say. His mind swirls with guilt— _the missing spleen is because of me; should have said something about_ wanting _him to come back downstairs._ Nothing comes out though.

Angrily, Tim huffs and shifts so he’s actually facing as far away from Bruce as he can. “I’m. Fine. Don’t worry. And I’m leaving as soon as I can get ahold of someone.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Bruce sighs. “I just meant—“

“Maybe you should go check on Damian.” The boy snaps, glancing at him for a second. “He’s gonna think you’re _really_ mad at him. If you don’t clear that up, he’ll do something stupid later.”

“I am—“

“He thinks you’ll beat him up or send him back.” Tim says, glaring back out the window. “Fire him from being Robin, maybe. ‘Cuz he knows that you can do that.”

Bruce gapes, nonplussed. And apparently, Tim feels that this means the conversation is over, because he stands up suddenly, stepping past Bruce and heading for the door.

“Wait, Tim,” Bruce’s voice finally works, but the boy’s already out the door. “Don’t…”

The man sighs and slumps, voice trailing off. He’s not sure what to do now—Tim’s right about Damian, but Bruce also knows that _Tim’s_ upset too— _very upset, or no one would even know_ —and he’s just not sure which of them to deal with first. For a moment, _just a moment,_ he thinks about just leaving it and letting the two boys work it out. But as soon as the thought takes shape, he stomps it out— _they’re_ his _children, his responsibilty_.

Just in case he though his day wouldn’t get any worse, the universe makes sure to let him know that it can. As he walks back into the kitchen on his way towards Damian’s room, he almost runs straight into Jason, who looks less than thrilled to be there.

“It’s cold, I’m wet, and Alfred said I could have dinner if I stopped by,” Jason blurts defensively, arms already crossing as he looks at Bruce. “I’m not here to do anything.”

“Okay,” Bruce says tiredly. _When did everything become a fight with his kids?_ “You’re welcome here, Jay. You do know that?”

Jason stares for a long moment, then snorts. “What happened? Who’s dead? Or are you needing me to talk to someone? Because _that_ is way too easy. Oh, I know! Robin 4.0 finally murdered his predecessor! Or maybe the replacement snapped and killed _his_ replacement. For the record, if that’s what happened, I get rights to the movie and book. That sort of irony’s impossible to make up.”

“Damian didn’t ‘replace’ Tim.” Bruce snaps.

“That’s all you got out of this?” Jason looks incredulous and slightly fascinated. “And yeah, he _did._ I mean, new kid comes along and now the old one’s running around in a borrowed suit, _alone_ , living off of caffeine and luck. I’d call that ‘replaced.’”

Bruce doesn’t have an answer. From that perspective, he can see exactly what Jason’s getting at. It occurs to him suddenly that out of all his children, Jason probably has the most unbiased understanding of the relationships in the family. It’s hard to choose between sorrow— _there’s no reason for it to be that way—_ and desperation. The desperation wins.

“You’re right. Look, Jason,” he sighs and tries to figure out the wording. “I need your help.”

“I’m not their fucking parent.”

“No, I know. But you _are_ the only one I know who actually knows what’s happened and why. I…I guess I’m asking for you to tell me. Because honestly—yes, I know this will sound stupid—I thought that they’d made up and gotten past their initial quarrel.”

“Yeah…you’re delusional. Okay,” Jason grins evilly, clearly relishing in the fact that Bruce has to ask for help. “ _Basically,_ uh, Damian thinks that if Tim’s around, then that means he’s not fully accepted as your kid and a member of the family. And, um, I _think_ Tim probably feels the same way, only he’s not wanting to murder a little kid; but every time Damian pulls some shit, there’s no real consequences, so he’s not sure if you actually disapprove of the whole ‘attempted murder’ thing. Oh, and you gotta stop throwing kids away and maybe try fucking apologizing. But that’s probably just me projecting there.”

“There are consequences,” Bruce argues weakly— _Jason’s right._

“Right.” Jason snorts. “Well, it’s been nice, but I’m gonna go find some clothes that don’t feel like they belonged to a mermaid before me.”

He brushes past Bruce, heading for the laundry room. Bruce watches the lanky figure leaving, wondering how many ways he screwed up for that son. After a few seconds, he takes a deep breath and continues up to Damian’s room.

Unsurprisingly, the boy is sulking, sitting against a wall, earbuds in, playing with a knife. Bruce swears that the things just spontaneously appear—he’s confiscated at least twenty by now. Damian doesn’t look up when he enters, but Bruce knows that the child is aware of his presence. Sighing, he walks over and sits down on the ground next to Damian, maintaining a slight distance so the boy doesn’t feel crowded.

It takes a long two minutes before Damian tugs one earbud out, still not looking at him.

“I did not mean to upset you,” the boy mutters, watching the light reflect off of the blade.

“I know,” Bruce says, because it’s true. “Do you understand _why_ I was upset though?”

“…Because Drake was upset and we ruined the table?”

“The table is replaceable, neither of you are. I’m upset because you felt it was okay to attack Tim for no reason. That’s not acceptable, Damian. He’s got as much a right as you do to feel safe here.”

Damian snorts. “He doesn’t even live here anymore.”

“He’s still a part of our family.”

“He’d do the same to me in an instant if he felt there was just cause. That’s part of why my grandfather likes him, you know.”

Bruce sets aside that little nugget for later. Right now he needs to focus on the immediate situation. But he can’t just say “Oh, Tim wouldn’t do that, he’s not that kind of person.” Because he’s not sure what kind of person Tim is now— _the kind of person who makes a deal with assassins? The kind who puts the mission above all else, even his own morals and life?_

“We’re not talking about ridiculous potentials, Damian. There’s never going to be a ‘just cause’, son. And if there was, Tim wouldn’t try to go to that extreme unless you left him with no choice. Sort of like he does when you two fight,” he adds, thinking about an incident Dick had mentioned—the boys fighting while on patrol, landing in Crime Alley. Damian had gotten a broken nose, and Dick had said that that probably wouldn’t have been the only thing broken if he hadn’t stepped in. “He doesn’t want to fight you.”

The child scowls, clearly not believing him. “He doesn’t want me to stay here either.”

“Probably because every time he’s here, you either threaten to or do attack him.” Bruce suggests mildly.

“He’s got no right to be here anyway. _I’m_ your _real_ son. _I’m_ Robin. Not him.” Damian’s tone is surprisingly petulant, but the look he gives Bruce is full of turmoil. “ _I_ belong here.”

“So does he, Damian. Like it or not, Tim is also my ‘real’ son. You can’t replace him, that’s not how this family works. You have a spot of your own and getting rid of Tim wouldn’t make his role suddenly available.” Bruce flounders for a second, trying to think of something Damian will understand. “Dick was Robin first, you know. And when Jason came into our lives, he felt replaced. But he still loves Jason, even now, right? Because he figured out that Jason _didn’t_ replace him. I mean, could Jason really be Dick?”

“…no.”

“Right. Jason is Jason. And _you_ are Damian. Not Tim. You can’t get rid of him and take over as the third son, because you’re not. Do you understand?”

When Damian says “Yes, Father,” Bruce isn’t really convinced, but he hopes that maybe some of that got through—he’s not Dick either, and out of all of them, Dick’s the best at conveying concepts like that. But he smiles and says that that’s a good thing, but Damian still has to sit there until dinner, because that’s a consequence of his actions. The reasoning seems to satisfy the boy, and he looks considerably less upset when Bruce exits.


	2. The Other Side of the Sword

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was a second chapter necessary? No. Did I do it anyway? Hell yeah!

The sound of bickering is what tells Bruce where to go to find Tim. He follows the sound downstairs and into the living room, where he stands in the doorway for a moment, taking in the scene.

Jason and Tim are having some sort of argument, not heated, but definitely not friendly either. He listens in and quickly figures out that Tim is annoyed because Jason won’t give him a ride. He’s not sure _why_ Jason’s made that decision, but the older teen seems torn between stubborn irritation and amusement.

Bruce clears his throat, eliciting a deer-in-the-headlights expression from Tim and guilty one from Jason. His older son seems to realize quite suddenly that he’s got ahold of Tim’s arm, because he drops it like it’s poisonous. Tim looks away from Bruce to glare at Jason.

“What’s…” Bruce isn’t really sure where to start.

“He wants me to do something that _I don’t want to do,”_ Jason explains, aiming the last bit more at Tim. “So I want something of equal or greater value.”

“His…arm?” It’s been a long day and Bruce is done playing detective with his own children.

“ _No._ I want him to help me with something later, but in order to do that,” Jason makes a grab at Tim, missing narrowly. “He needs stitches. Only he’s an idiot and a stubborn pain in the ass!”

“I _don’t need stitches._ You just don’t like me taking care of my own injuries.” Tim snaps, still dodging Jason. “I’m _fine.”_

“Whenever I let you take care of your own shit, you end up half-dead! I don’t got time for you to get an infection and then get better. I need you in, like, the next twenty-four hours!”

Jason lunges and half-catches Tim, who yells for him to “fuck off” and squirms out of the jacket he’s holding. Bruce can see where this is going: Jason’s going to keep on him until he gives in and Tim is going to try and make him mad enough to forget the entire thing.

“Why does he need stitches?” Bruce asks, putting a hand up to stop Jason from diving over the couch.

“Because the Demon Brat _stabbed_ him, remember?”

“You didn’t get that taken care off?” Now he’s exasperated with Tim too.

Tim stands up from behind the couch to glare. “I _did._ I just didn’t do stitches. I can do a dressing just fine, remember? Jason’s a pain in the ass.”

Bruce isn’t sure when these two got to be on good terms, but it’s heartening, even in this situation. So he doesn’t comment on that, just says “Let me see it then.”

“As soon as he’s done,” Tim says defiantly.

“He’s done.” A pointed look is sent at Jason to ensure this. “ _Now,_ Tim.”

The teen mutters something grumpily but climbs back out. He slides one arm out of its sleeve and pulls the shirt up so Bruce can see his side and shoulder.

“It’s not a stab so much as it’s a cut. I moved.” Tim clarifies needlessly. “Little shit was aiming for the back of my neck.”

Not wanting to know _how_ Tim knows that for sure, Bruce sighs and inspects the bandages. It’s a decent enough patch job, though Jason’s right about stitches—the cut is too deep in some places. Blood is already seeping through the gauze in places. It’s an awkward angle though, which means that Tim managed to get past Alfred without stitches too.

“It needs stitches, son.” Bruce says gently. “Jason or I can do them. Your choice, kiddo.”

Tim groans in defeat and Jason cackles triumphantly.

“I don’t care. Just do them.” There’s a ridiculous amount of dark acceptance in the boy’s tone. “I get a ride back after that, right?”

Jason shrugs and starts out of the room. “If you still want. Hey, I’m gonna go grab the kit. Don’t let him escape again.”

As soon as he’s gone, an uncomfortable silence falls upon the room. Tim sighs and flops onto the couch, wincing when he jostles the injury. With his shirt still half-off, Bruce can make out a lot of details that he normally wouldn’t notice, let alone think to look for. Like how he can see the boy’s ribs, or how those angry red lines crisscross his stomach and torso, telling the story of what he’d done— _what he’d lost_ —to make sure that Bruce would get back. It’s a painful reminder, and he finds himself looking away.

Eventually, this becomes unbearably awkward, so he joins Tim on the couch. He’s a lot closer than he’d been with Damian, mostly because he doubts Tim would stab him— _even if he wants to._ The thought brings back Jason’s earlier words—“ _new kid comes along and now the old one’s running around in a borrowed suit, alone, living off of caffeine and luck. I’d call that replaced.”_

“You know you’ve still got a room here,” Bruce offers, not sure what else to do. “There’s no need to make Jason take you all the way back into town.”

“Pass.” Tim frowns, fiddling with the empty sleeve. “If I wanted to be murdered, I’d just go into Arkham and piss off somebody there. Penguin, probably. He really doesn’t like me already.”

There’s no truth in promising that he doesn’t need to worry about that, not when evidence to the contrary is right there in white and red contrast as a reminder.

“Besides, I’m supposed to attend some lunch meeting for you—well, actually, Dick flaked and asked if I would, and he was supposed to cover for you, so…”

Bruce honestly has no idea what meeting is being referred to, but he feels horrible for putting his son in a position where he’d actually prefer a business meeting to staying home.

“I’m sure it’s not that important…”

“Won’t need to buy lunch then though.” The boy shrugs.

“You wouldn’t have to here either.” _God, why can’t he just say “I want you here, I miss you, you belong here._

Tim scoffs but doesn’t comment, probably well aware that Bruce has picked up on the hesitance to stay. Finally he says, in an almost off-handed manner, “Y’know, I’m supposed to have cleaned out my parents’ old estate by Sunday. Should probably do that soon.”

“Wh-why didn’t you say something sooner? I could have taken care of it.” _I’m your father, I’m supposed to make sure you don’t have to handle painful things on your own._

“You’re busy. I’ve got it handled.”

Suddenly he regrets ever wishing for this to be the easy child, because that’s a double edged sword, and here’s the bleeding truth: _the easy child never asks for help, never wants to be a bother, starves for the attention that goes to the children who require more attention. The easy child can just disappear, because he’s so busy being easy that there’s nothing left for being anything but. The easy child is easily lost when they’re constantly put to the side for the sake of more difficult things._

“I’m not too busy to help you, Tim.” He doesn’t lie and say he’s never too busy, because they both know that’s bullshit. “You don’t _have_ to deal with this alone.”

“Like I didn’t have to deal with Ra’s alone? That’s what you said, remember, that I should have gotten help. Well, everyone else was busy, so I took care of it. Just like I’m taking care of this. Everyone is busy—you’re finally starting to get somewhere with Damian, Dick has a life, Alfred’s helping you, and I’d probably rather chew my arm off than ask Jason.”

“Like a rabid coyote?” He did say those things. “So…what happens if I don’t want you to do it alone?”

Tim shrugs, eyeing him critically.

“I don’t want you to just take care of everything, Tim. That’s my job, I signed up for it when I signed those adoption papers, remember? Hell, I’d signed up for it before then, after that first time you started staying over because no one was home. I’m your dad, it’s my job to make sure you don’t do things alone.”

Tim opens his mouth to say something, but Bruce wants to finish now, before he can lose the moment or his determination.

“I know that…I’ve failed you. Not just once or twice, either. And I know you’ve heard that before, so I’ll leave it there. But I want you to understand that you are _still my son,_ you are still a part of this family. I know that Damian has been…” He fishes for a moment, not wanting to belittle what’s been said and done. “Unbelievably awful to you particularly. But he’s not going to replace you or convince us to. He could _never_ do that. And it’s been unfair to expect you to put up with it constantly and to be made feel unsafe and unwelcome here. I’m sorry. You’re more than welcome here, Tim. Hell, I… _I miss_ having you here, even though I don’t act like it.”

That gets a choked laugh and the comment “Well, you’ve never really acted like it, so…”

“I’m sure you’ve heard it from Dick, but apparently, I’m repressed and emotionally constipated.” Bruce replies drily.

He hesitates for a second, then ever so gently puts a hand on Tim’s shoulder. He’s surprised slightly when Tim leans into the touch. After a second, he moves and puts his arm around the boy’s shoulder, pulling him into a loose embrace.

It occurs to him that he really doesn’t show affection towards Tim as often as he should. It was just never a part of their relationship in the beginning, and after the kid had moved in, Bruce had kept his distance, wanting to give him time to grieve, though right before the entire time-stream debacle he’d begun to realize that that had been a mistake. But it hadn’t really been on his mind, not with Damian’s obvious need for all the love and attention he could get, his need to get caught up again after being away for so long. The saying “out of sight, out of mind” was terribly true in their relationship—he’d done nothing to keep Tim in sight, and this was the price.

Bruce sighs softly and looks up, wondering where Jason’s got to…and immediately makes eye contact with his second son, leaning up against the doorway. The young man gives him a smirk and winks before turning back out of the room. Regardless of what some people think, Jason is exceptionally good at people, and it’s pretty obvious now that he’d set them up, presumably hoping for Bruce to get his act together. While he does appreciate the gesture, Bruce also really wants to throttle the teen for the blatant manipulation.

But he also doesn’t want to get up yet, not when Tim is actually taking him seriously. So instead he just sucks it up and tugs a throw blanket over, draping it over the skinny kid, who already looks half-asleep. Knowing Tim, if he just keeps quiet, the boy will be fast asleep in a matter of minutes. Eventually, Bruce falls asleep himself, worn down by the combination of a sleeping kid and being stationary for over twenty minutes with no end in sight.

He wakes up with the strange sensation that he was being watched. Opening his eyes, Bruce can see Damian hesitating in the doorway. He shifts into a position that’s less uncomfortable and waves the boy over.

“Is everything okay?”

Damian nods, a strange sort of expression on his face. “Yes. You missed dinner, so I wanted to find out what happened. Is he… _dead?”_

“No, just totally asleep,” Bruce says, glancing at Tim, who does look pale enough to be a corpse in this light. “Sorry I missed dinner.”

“Clearly you needed the rest.” Damian shrugs, as though he wasn’t concerned. “Todd made an excellent pavlova though.”

“Jason has a real talent, believe it or not. You wanna sit down?”

The child looks conflicted, but when Bruce pats the empty cushion next to him, Damian scrambles up and settles himself somewhat stiffly. He looks awkward and Bruce thinks that he should probably make more of an effort to hug this son too—clearly he’s had little experience with any sort of positive contact aside from Dick’s.

“So what did Alfred make for dinner?” Bruce asks, casually putting an arm around Damian. He’s thinking that maybe the key with this one is to act like there’s nothing abnormal with an action. “I didn’t miss any of my favorites, right?”

Damian tenses at the touch, but then slowly relaxes against him, much like a cat who’s not used to people. “Just a lasagna. It was adequate.”

Bruce hums in response, settling back against the couch.

“I will try to be…less aggressive towards Drake in the future.” Damian says suddenly, like he’s been thinking about it for a while.

“I’d appreciate it. Maybe you could start calling him by his first name too. I imagine he’d be less agitated if you did that occasionally.”

“Perhaps.”

 

After a few moments of silence, Damian lets out a long breath and seems to relax all the way. Bruce doubts that the child will sleep—there are years of training that are still intact, including the constant vigilance. But the very fact that Damian can relax at all around others, especially people he doesn’t trust as much, speaks to the amount of progress he’s made.

Perhaps he’s being too optimistic, thinking that Damian means what he says, that Tim really believes anything he’s been told. But Bruce wants desperately to believe that his two boys can live in relative peace, even if they’re never friends. He imagines there will be setbacks, but right now, as both boys rest against him, he’s willing to believe that it can happen.

**Author's Note:**

> So Jason MAY be a little OC. But he always seemed like a really perceptive person to me. I mean, to survive on the streets, you gotta know how to read people and situations, and that skill doesn't go away. And he likes being a pain in the ass. So he strikes me as the kind of person who would be willing to help if it means he gets to call crap and set people up.
> 
> Looks like I'm spending my birthday alone, which is shitty. So this is my birthday present to myself. Happy birthday to me!


End file.
